Draco's Twistmas Carol
by Rosella Burgundy
Summary: "You will change your convictions," her voice dulled into a more bearable lower tone. "You will receive the visit of three spirits in the coming nights. Two will come at three o'clock, the third will come at the last stroke of midnight on Christmas Eve."
1. Chapter 1- First visitor

In response to a prompt by Anonymous in the Twistmas collection.

 **Prompt:** Christmas visitors

Warnings: torture, murder, hints to non-con, heavy alcohol consumption, cussing. This is a violent and twisted fic.

JK Rowling owns Harry Potter and all that belongs to that fantastic world. A couple of the dialogues towards the end are from The Deathly Hallows. This story was inspired by A Christmas Carol - Charles Dickens.  
Thank you to The Slytherin Cabal for putting this twisted Christmas fest together.  
My endless gratitude to my alpha/beta RooOJoy. All errors left are mine!  
Happy Holidays to you all! Thanks for reading. Please let me know what you think.

* * *

 **Draco's Twistmas Carol**

 _ **22nd of December 1997, 2:45 AM**_

Draco came to, a throbbing headache and a taste of bile in his mouth.

 _Bollocks._

The dark room he woke up within smelled musty and somewhat foul as though he'd been shagging and drinking all night. Bracing his stomach, he found himself naked. The last details he could recall were a self-refilling bottle of Ogden's Old Firewhiskey, Theo, Pansy, and the Greengrass sisters.

A soft sigh from somewhere next to him hinted that he wasn't alone.

Fuck, please, Salazar, don't let it be Pansy.

"Draco," a hushed voice called for him. Thank Merlin, it wasn't Pansy's high pitched whine. She tended to be a _little_ clingy if he paid her any kind of attention.

Rubbing his eyes, he focussed his sight and scanned the darkness around him. At first, it was in vain. Once his pupils adjusted to the lack of light, he could finally discern the familiar shapes of his bedroom at Malfoy Manor. Next to him lied a pale undressed body, barely covered by his green duvet. The witch's oval shaped face was framed in honey coloured locks.

"Greengrass, what the fuck are you doing still here?" he questioned rather rudely.

"You asked me to go to bed with you," Astoria quipped, pinching her thin eyebrows together.

Draco suddenly remembered her flirty eyes from the night before. The youngest of the Greengrasses had rubbed her body against his own all night, rendering him aroused and willing to bed anyone; she had been lucky enough to be the closest to him when he finally decided to retire in his chambers.

"Yes, and you already did exactly what I wanted from you. Now get the fuck out," he hissed while he was frantically looking for his wand.

He didn't listen to Astoria's protestations and insults towards him. He knew he deserved them all, but he couldn't give a Sickle about it. Witches bored him. At least when he was not shagging them.

Finally, his fingers grazed the familiar ten inches long Hawthorn wood. He summoned a pair of sweatpants and left the bed. He walked straight for the loo while his hands combed through his tousled hair. He didn't bother saying goodbye; he only hoped he would have found an empty bedroom upon his return.

He briefly looked at his face in the mirror, before standing over the toilet. He looked like dragon dung. His skin was as pale as the translucent sheer of the Slytherin House ghost. He had gotten thin and unhealthy, the dark circles around his eyes making him look like a hollow skull.

Draco Malfoy fucking hated what he had become. He couldn't remember the last time he had a proper meal. Since he had returned to the Manor for the holidays, Mother had been complaining every day about him not joining the family for supper.

Scoffing at the thought of family, he flushed the toilet and approached the sink. His family consisted in the shadow of his father, spineless and wandless as he was, in the fading beauty of his mother, stomped by the duress of the constant threat on her life, and in his fucking mad aunt Bellatrix, if he could call her a relative at all. He barely fucking knew the bint. He stared at his reflection for two heartbeats, then he averted his eyes. He could bear no more.

His gaze fell on the exposed skin of his left forearm. The sinister snake of his Mark was slithering out of one of the skull's empty sockets. The serpent hissed as his last spire flopped out of the hole that was supposed to host an eye. Draco's stomach flipped, and he was forced to hunch over the sink to empty it. A dark, burnt liquid splashed all over the immaculate porcelain. The smell was acrid and foul, it made his bulging eyes water and ache. His throat was sore and soon started stinging and burning.

He vomited until he had nothing else to purge. After spitting some bile, he cleaned up and dragged his feet back toward his four-poster bed. There were still noises in his bedroom, metallic scraping as though someone was playing with the fireplace tool set. He inhaled sharply, before letting his breath out, spitting all his annoyance, "Hadn't I made myself clear, Greengrass?"

The large clock down the hallway chimed three times. It was fucking loud, and Draco hated that thing. He cussed at himself for drinking his mind into oblivion and forgetting to cast a Quieting Charm on his bedroom.

Draco suddenly shuddered, a glacial shiver rattling him to the core. The temperature had dropped below zero; his breaths swirled before his eyes. He scanned his room, trying to find the source of the metal thrashing sounds, but he was alone.

An ethereal and cavernous whisper mauled his eardrum, sounding as though it originated right in the centre of his brain, "Not Astoria, dear."

A cloud of white smoke began seeping through the wooden boards of the floor. At first, the mist rose in the air and filled the room, expanding and spiralling upward. Then, it condensed in a dense and thick glob that shifted until it formed a human figure. The ghost floated around the room, producing all sort of screeching noises, and came to a halt in front of the luxurious fireplace.

Draco let out a horrified cry at the sight of his former Professor of Muggle Studies, Charity Burbage.

The witch had been killed by the Dark Lord in the Manor over the summer. Draco still had nightmares regarding that awful night when he was forced to witness the death of that poor pleading woman. He could still hear the clunk that her body produced when it hit the wooden table in what used to be his family's dining room. His sleep was constantly disturbed by the image of Nagini devouring the witch's stiff corpse. Looking at his former professor, Draco could clearly distinguish clumps of mangled flesh on her face and neck. He suspected there were more but they were mercifully covered by her pearlescent robe.

"It is a pleasure to meet you again, Mr Malfoy." Once more, her voice seemed to emanate from inside of him.

"Professor, I-I ..." Words couldn't form coherently in his mind. Burbage tilted her head, smiling at his struggle; her dead eyes were soft, almost affectionate.

"Don't be afraid, dear. I'm not here to haunt you." She floated over his bed and sat on it, the mattress remained unmoved. Piercing him with her gaze as though she could see right through him, she spoke, "You would deserve a scolding for the way you treated that poor girl though. I remember Ms Greengrass, she's a clever girl."

 _Not clever enough to stay away from me_ , Draco thought but didn't dare state it out loud. "Why are you here, Professor?" he asked instead. He was feeling really uncomfortable, her eyes were disturbing, they had scrutinized each and every movement he had dared executing, like biting his lip or fidgeting with his thumb ring. He felt as though he was stripped bare, right to his bones.

"I'm here to warn you to change your ways," she responded with a hollow smile.

He tilted an eyebrow up towards his hairline and shifted his weight from one leg to the other.

Professor Burbage giggled an eerie sound that went straight to the pit of his belly. "You need to come to your senses, dear. You are going to be put in front of a hard choice soon, and you need to know what to do. There can be no hesitation."

"I'm afraid I don't understand," Draco breathed out almost in a whisper.

"You'll be called upon to help the Chosen One," the spirit sibilated, floating towards him. Draco stepped back one pace after the other until he hit the cold, stone wall of his bedroom.

The ghost of his former professor stopped mere centimetres from his pointy nose, her eyes were smouldering pools of molten lead. "Don't you dare speak, boy. I can see every despicable thought in your mind!" Her voice was reverberating within the confines of his brain as though it were made of thunder and blasting curses.

Draco was panting, unwillingly breathing in the cold, dead air that was leaking from her lifeless lips. He was thinking that helping Potter could never be an option for him.

"You will change your convictions," her voice dulled into a more bearable lower tone. "You will receive the visit of three spirits in the coming nights. Two will come at three o'clock, the third will come at the last stroke of midnight on Christmas Eve." Then, the wraith passed through Draco's solid body and disappeared, leaving him hunched on the cold floor, greedily gasping for some clean oxygen now that the ghost was gone.

The young Malfoy heir stared at the dust particles dancing in front of the feeble candlelight on the claw-footed desk on the other side of the room until the sky reverberated its pale light into the manor. He remained lost in his mind, still scared and shaken to his core.


	2. Chapter 2 - The Ghost Of Christmas Past

_**The Ghost Of Christmas Past**_

* * *

 _ **23rd December 1997, 2:55 AM**_

Breathing heavily, Draco poured the umpteenth glass of mead down his throat. He could feel his insides clenching around the soothing, but also gut wrenching, liquid as his head spun around with the swirls of alcohol. His hand let go of the tumbler that broke in many ragged shards. Draco was so drunk that it had just slipped from his fingers.

He had refused to leave his quarters all day. Mother had tried to enter his room, but she could do nothing against the wards he had put up. He had hexed Theo's owl away as the poor bird had tried to land on the stone, chiselled window sill. His house-elf had not dared enter his quarters for years, Draco had cursed her so many times that even the ever loyal creature had eventually decided to let him brood in solitude. The Dark Lord and his damned Mark were silent, at least.

Sitting in his chair next to the desk, Draco grasped the messy blond locks on top of his head and pulled at the strands with no mercy, his head lolling and heavy. He had attempted to convince himself that the night before had only been a joke, a cruel nightmare, but as the arms of his heavy wrist watch relentlessly ticked towards the third hour after midnight, he started shivering. Violent shakes made the entirety of his body rattle in terror. He dreaded the moment he would meet the next spirit. Draco was not afraid of ghosts. He had lived alongside the Bloody Baron and Peeves at Hogwarts, and he knew they were almost harmless, maybe the latter was just a little annoying in his poltergeist form.

What the wizard was terrified of was to face other innocent people that had died. Burbage perished in his home, so it was Draco's understanding that the deaths of the three ghosts that were about to pay him a visit were somehow related to him. He wished that the mead would help him face the revenant of what was once his Hogwarts Headmaster. He had an eerie feeling that Dumbledore was going to be one of the spirits.

Draco didn't hear the clock striking three o'clock, but he felt the cold mist raising beneath him as though it were a dagger driven into his heart. He covered his orbs with his palms.

"Greetings, lad. I'm the ghost of the Christmas past." Through his shielded eyes, Draco couldn't see whom that metallic voice belonged to.

The ghost laughed at his cowardice. The sound spread within Draco's veins, mingling with his very blood. "Get up. As much as I don't like being on a schedule, we don't have much time," the male voice commanded.

With a groan, Draco lifted his head and met the floating figure of a somewhat familiar wizard. He was sure he had nothing to do with his death so he felt somewhat relieved. The spirit was wearing tight dragonhide trousers and a loose white shirt, the sleeves were rolled up past his elbows and the first couple of buttons were undone. His face was hard and aristocratic, framed by long dark locks. Draco recognized his distant cousin, someone he had known only from articles published in the Daily Prophet.

"Sirius Black," he greeted him back, chin haughtily pointed upward and hands sliding down the sides of his face. "You have one night on this earth and you come to me instead of visiting your beloved pupil Potter?" Draco had regained his nerve from the relief of having escaped the sight of Dumbledore. Alcohol helped him too.

Sirius clicked his tongue, lazily sinking in the green velvet sofa that occupied a corner of Draco's room. "I'm glad that you got your temper from the Black part of your family and not from your boring father," he stated with a smirk. "Anyways, I _am_ here for Harry. I shite you not. Now, come, I must show you something."

With movements rendered unsteady by alcohol, Draco reluctantly stood. He was aware that he had no other choice. How could he avert the presence of a spirit? His gaze observed the shattered glass on the floor, the fucking metaphor of his present life. With a wand flick, he summoned the mead bottle and took a swig.

Black chuckled lightly, floating back to standing, his eyes fixed on the bottle. "Booze is pretty much the only thing I envy the living for. Well, that, and sex," he finished with a barking laughter. The ghost half hovered and half walked to Draco. With a sigh, Sirius put a translucent hand on Draco's shoulder, the other stole the bottle.

Draco jolted, as he could actually feel the cold touch of Black's cadaveric hand. He observed the old ink of his tattoos before he tried to pull away, but a magical bond forced him to remain still. His grey eyes met Sirius' ones, they shone with a similar smokey colour, and they were admonishing him not to make things more difficult. Draco bit his lip, a worried frown contracted his pointy features. Sirius sipped and drained the mead as though he were a drifter and the mead were land. The empty bottle flew to the fireplace, causing an explosion of glass and embers, crashing noises, and a roaring of flames. Then, Black closed his orbs and the room around them started spinning with a vorticose pace. Wall and furniture whirled and moulded into each other in a grey blur until everything grew black.

Draco felt as though he were falling in a black hole, nothing under his feet to stop his tumbling into the abyss, Sirius's hand the only hold to reality and, he suspected, to his own sanity as well. When his feet finally touched a solid surface, Draco resumed his breathing as well. His surroundings took form. Another bedroom appeared before his eyes, but Draco didn't recognize it. He looked sideways at his cousin's ghost with a confused look.

The place could have been any damned Gryffindor bedroom. Red curtains concealed a huge four-poster bed; the walls and ceiling were hidden behind photographs of wizards dressed in red and gold, Gryffindor emblems and banners, and large non-magical pictures. The posters portrayed Muggle vehicles with two wheels and naked women with seventies hairstyles.

Sirius was silent. He just pointed at his ear once, prompting Draco to listen. As if he knew exactly what was about to happen, Black stared at the door. Two distinct voices were shouting somewhere outside the bedroom. The yelling grew louder and closer until the door of the bedroom slammed open and two teenage boys entered the room.

One of them was a younger Sirius, dressed in black elegant trousers, white button-down shirt, no shoes, and a red and gold tie that hung loosely around his neck. The other lad was younger, but his features looked similar to the older boy. He was dressed in an alike manner, but he was wearing shiny expensive shoes and a green and silver tie, perfectly knotted, instead.

"Regulus…" ghost Sirius whispered to himself, and Draco knew immediately who he was. Former Slytherin, Quidditch player, Death Eater, and also his cousin.

"Get out, wanker. I don't want you in my room!" younger Sirius spewed at his little brother.

Regulus crossed his arms and straightened his back before speaking with a low growl, "How can you do this to Mother. It's Christmas, you should come downstairs and have a meal with us for once."

Sirius scoffed, waving his wand around with angry movements and magically packing a trunk. "I won't be joining those two bigots for dinner today, or ever again."

"Oh right, let me guess, you are going to Potty," Regulus mockingly said. Draco smirked at Regulus' insult towards what he thought to be James Potter, alcohol fuelling his mirth. Once or twice, he had used the same offence to taunt Harry Potter.

Sirius didn't answer, continuing his preparation with stiff actions, showing his back to his brother, to his ghostly self, and to Draco.

"You are a shame to this family. You hang out with those-"

"Gryffindor dung, Blood Traitors, Mudbloods, Half-Bloods...blah blah. I heard it all before, Reg. Do you want to know what _truly_ is a shame?" Sirius bellowed, forcefully shutting the lid of his trunk and turning his head slightly to glower at his brother. Keeping his glare on Regulus, he jerked his shirt off and exposed his bare back. Deep purple long wounds ruined the perfection of Sirius' sculpted back. The gashes looked freshly healed with magic.

The ghost next to Draco emitted a low grunt at the sight, his eyes also smouldering, but they became instantly softer when they met his little brother's astonished face.

"A father that whips his son over his choice of tie colour is a fucking shame," Sirius shouted. "A shame," his voice dropped to a hiss then, "is a brother that plans to join a xenophobe terroristic group at fourteen fucking years old."

Young Sirius slipped on a worn down pullover and a pair of leather boots and performed a Shrinking Charm on the trunk. Immediately after, he tucked his belongings into his pocket. With a final glare at Regulus, Sirius opened the window and jumped out.

Draco and Regulus both gasped and looked outside, expecting to see younger Sirius splattered to the ground. Instead, Sirius was sitting on a weird Muggle motor vehicle that was hovering just below the sill.

With a sad smile, the Spirit of the Christmas past approached Draco and put a hand on his shoulder again. "Took me many Disillusionment Charms to hide that motorcycle. That thing was bloody sexy, but also rather bulky."

"And noisy," Draco added, putting his palms over his ears when young Sirius fired the bike. The roar died down as the world around them started spinning again.

Everything stopped and Regulus Black emerged from the darkness. He was older now and pacing the perimeter of a little study.

Draco locked eyes with Sirius and asked, "Why did you show me all this? You had the guts to leave. Bravo, but what good did it do to you? Your friends betrayed you, and you spent half your life in Azkaban."

Sirius stuck his tongue to the side of his mouth, then he opened it to talk, but a loud pop caused both him and Draco to jolt.

A little bundle of dirt and blood had apparated in a corner.

"Kreacher!" Regulus called, kneeling down to cradle the creature in his lap.

"Master…" the house-elf feebly pleaded.

"What happened?" Black demanded.

"The Dark Lord...he ordered Kreacher retrieve Salazar's locket, sir. Kreacher tried to serve the Dark Lord as Master commanded, but there were wards...dark magic, and me got hurt. Sorry, sir," the elf whispered with a raspy voice and passed out immediately after.

Draco braced himself as time began fast forwarding. His stomach turned with the passing of the scenes in front of him. Everything stopped again. Regulus was hunched over his desk, slowly scribbling a letter, pausing every now and then to dip the black feathered quill in the ink well.

Sirius gestured with his head to Draco to get closer. They observed in silence as the younger of the Black brothers finished his missive. Regulus dropped the quill with a sigh, and Sirius placed a transparent hand on his brother's shoulder in a vain attempt to comfort him. Draco read Black's scribbling quickly, feeling the pain that had been poured in that parchment. He felt a somewhat similar disillusionment with the Dark Lord's purpose.

 _Dear Brother,_

 _I'm writing to you on this Christmas day because I need to tell you_ t̶h̶a̶t̶ ̶y̶o̶u̶ ̶w̶e̶r̶e̶ ̶r̶i̶g̶h̶t̶ ̶f̶u̶c̶k̶ ̶t̶h̶i̶s̶ ̶p̶a̶i̶n̶s̶ ̶m̶e̶ ̶t̶o̶ ̶a̶d̶m̶i̶t̶ ̶b̶u̶t̶ ̶ _that you were never in the wrong, my brother. Leaving this estate, distancing yourself from the circles, which I so vehemently defended, were probably the most intelligent things you have done in your reckless life._

 _I, on the other hand, am doing the biddings of a madman, of a_ h̶a̶l̶f̶ ̶b̶l̶o̶o̶d̶e̶d̶ ̶ _bloody fool. Since I took the Mark, my life has been on a downhill road; I feel as though I'm riding one of your weird Muggle vehicles straight toward a wall. I don't even know if this makes any sense._

 _Brother, I am about to embark on a journey that, I'm certain, will cost me my life. I made my peace though, I hope you'll be proud of me._

 _Merry Christmas._

Y̶o̶u̶r̶ ̶l̶i̶t̶t̶l̶e̶ ̶b̶r̶o̶t̶h̶e̶r̶ ̶R̶e̶g̶ ̶ _Regulus Arcturus Black_

With lips pursed, Draco took a couple of steps back. He hid his hands in the trouser pockets and peered at the floor, leaving the two brothers at their awkward supernatural reunion.

Draco's head jerked up when he felt Sirius' cold fingers digging into his upper arm. While the study began to fade away he saw Regulus shouting a Fire-Making Spell towards the letter he had just written. In a whoosh, they were back in his room at Malfoy Manor.

Sirius let Draco's arm go and flew to the dying flames of the fireplace. Draco could see the embers through Sirius' contracted but ethereal body. The spirit balled his hands in fists and spoke with a growl, "Regulus died in an attempt to destroy something that is very dear to Voldemort." Draco flinched at the name of his Lord, said with such fearless contempt. "I had always believed Reg was a coward up until I learned his story when I died. It turned out he was the real hero between the two of us."

Draco swallowed with difficulty, his saliva tasted rancid from the liquor. "What you showed me only proves that nobody can go against the Dark Lord and survive."

Sirius chuckled eerily. "Lad, it proves that no matter what the price is, fighting for what is right is always worth it."

Draco scoffed, shaking his head, eyes wide in disbelief. "What the fuck am I supposed to do? I don't give a shite about my life, Black. If I stray, he'll kill Mother. She doesn't deserve all this, and Father already put her through so much."

"Don't be a craven! Do what's right!" Sirius roared, his voice echoing in Draco's brain.

"And what is it that I must do for Harry _fucking_ Potter?" Draco yelled back, face red with anger. He clenched his jaw then, a tremble to his lips.

Sirius had the fucking audacity to shrug at him, before he looked straight in his eyes, grey piercing into grey, and said, "I'm not sure, lad. I'm not even sure why I've been chosen to visit you." He pushed his long wavy hair off his shoulders and took a step toward the younger wizard. "You remind me of a young me - arrogant, irascible, always pissed off. If I can just present you with one piece of advice, boy, don't let your temper get the best of you."

Draco opened his mouth to retort, he was cross for having wasted another night, but Sirius raised a hand and broke into a barking laugh. His laughter actually turned into a bark as Sirius shifted into a large black dog. The fiery beast charged Draco as though it were a hellhound and as it pounced him, it went right through his body and disappeared into thin air with a low growl. Draco collapsed on the cold floor, shivering in fear.


	3. Chapter 3-The Ghost Of Christmas Present

_**The Ghost Of Christmas Present**_

 _ **24th of December 1997, 2:30 AM**_

With a painful punch to the wall of his shower that left his knuckles raw, Draco leaned his forehead on the smooth surface of the tiles before him, freezing water trickling down his spine. He had hoped to find some relief for his overwhelmed mind in a cold drizzle.

It didn't fucking work.

Nothing managed, not alcohol, not a Calming Draft, not a wanking, not the glacial temperature he had set the water at.

Raising his head, Draco dragged his fingers through his damp platinum locks, scraping his scalp and reaching the back of his neck. He nervously stroked his nape. He remained under the running water until his teeth began rattling together. At that point, he wrapped his long fingers around his wand, which was always at arm's reach, and he tapped the spout, stopping the cold flow.

Not even bothering drying himself, he marched to his bed with long strides, water pooling where his feet touched the floor and drops trickling from his skin. He collapsed on the bed and covered himself with the heavy green blanket. Maybe if he fell unconscious, he could just sleep through whatever damned ghostly presence he was about to be disturbed by. He was just lying to himself.

Resigned to the incumbent arrival of his visitor, at 2:55 he rose from his bed and dressed in a simple vest, jumper, and black trousers over a pair of briefs. He sneered at the almost familiar dropping of temperature in his room, and he curled his lip as white fog swirled up from the floor. He didn't know where he found the nerve to do it, but he actually laughed in the ghost's face when it finally materialised within his room.

Cedric Diggory stared down at him, eyebrows pinched together, jaw tight. He was wearing his old school uniform, his tie, grey and black in his smokey form, had been black and yellow at Hogwarts.

"I see you are still a little tosser, Malfoy," the spirit hissed, smoothing his hair with verve.

"And you are still a pansy, Diggory," Malfoy clipped but quickly averted his eyes, suddenly remembering how the former Hufflepuff died. How could he have forgotten? Merlin, he should cut back on his alcohol intake, it was starting to erode his brain cells. Feeling his blood warming his face, he stuck his tongue to the side of his cheek.

"I'm the ghost of the Christmas present," Cedric revealed and without further ado, he floated over to Draco and jabbed cold fingers in the sensitive flesh of his left wrist.

In the blink of an eye, the walls around them and the floor below them faded away, and Draco found himself flying over a familiar landscape. The imposing structure of the Hogwarts castle stood out in the horizon. The only natural light source was the pale moon. Faint torch lights danced within the castle stone walls.

Diggory dragged Draco in a downwards spiralling fall, his heart sank into his stomach as they approached the hard and frozen soil. Expecting to crash to the ground, Draco squeezed his eyes shut. For a brief moment, he almost welcomed the imminent death. He dared peer through his eyelids only when his feet touched a solid surface with surprising softness.

They were in the dungeons, somewhere near the Slytherin Common Room entrance.

"Get in there," Cedric roughly pushed Draco against the wall, and his body slipped through it as though he were a ghost himself. As soon as they were on the other side, screams of pain pierced Draco's eardrums and scraped the inside of his skull.

Alecto Carrow was towering over the thrashing petite body of what Draco thought to be a little girl. The Death Eater was spewing all kinds of insults and curses in the direction of her victim, who turned to face her just then, and Draco could see her features contorting into an agonizing grimace. Alecto was fucking giggling, delighted by the torment she inflicted on the young student.

"Fucking Mudblood! Your own parents don't even want you home for Christmas," her voice was goading, coming out in a childish, mocking tone that sounded extremely out of place. "But wait...aren't you the daughter of that poor Muggle family that got killed in London?" Alecto laughed wickedly, shouting more curses.

As much as it pained him to admit it, Draco was used to witnessing this kind of violence. Sharing his manor with the Dark Lord and living the hell that their school had become under the Carrows' regime made him almost numb to torture and suffering. He was ashamed of it, but, nonetheless, he turned to Diggory with a haughty look and shrugged.

The former Hufflepuff glanced sideways at him while he recentered his tie knot. Then his head jerked towards Draco, and his dead eyes scowled at him, observing his proud face for a moment. He blinked then and asked with a growl, "Is this what you wish the world to become?"

"I already know what the Carrows are doing at Hogwarts. I am a seventh year student," Draco responded in a plain tone.

Cedric scoffed, shaking his head, his lip curled in disgust toward Malfoy. "Do you know what's going on under your nose, then? In your very home?"

Diggory harrowed his boney fingers deep in Draco's arm, he could swear he felt his fingernails scraping at his bones. Everything around them started to change. Alecto and the poor girl faded into nothing and everything went dim.

Another darkened place came through the blackness. Draco recognized the cellar at his house. The familiar barrels of mead and firewhisky were stored in a disorderly manner. They had been emptied by the thirsty mouths of the Death Eaters that had desecrated his family's home. The young Malfoy heir had not stepped into the cellar since the Dark Lord claimed the Manor as his headquarters. He knew it was used as a holding cell for prisoners.

The wandmaker, Ollivander, was sitting in the dirt in a corner, head hidden between his knees. Next to him, laying on a rug, was a familiar blonde girl. Draco tilted his head and focused on her heart shaped face. She was dirty and thinner than the last time he saw her on the Hogwarts Express when he briefly passed her as she was fighting one of the Death Eaters that attacked the train.

Luna Lovegood. She was the prisoner that they had kidnapped on their ride back to London.

The heavy metal cellar door cracked open and with eerie sounds, it swung and let in Bellatrix and Rodolphus Lestrange. At the sight of his mad aunt, Draco's feet dragged backwards of their own volition. He knew what was going to happen, he had heard how Lestrange liked to rape and beat prisoners to death while the crazy bitch of his wife enjoyed the show. Draco didn't wish to witness that.

The damn ghost of Cedric Diggory sneered at him and with a movement of his hands he cast some sort of spell on Draco, the magic forced him still. He found himself unable to close his eyes either.

"Leave the girl alone," Ollivander's voice came out crackling, his tongue sounding like sandpaper on dry wood.

Bellatrix beamed at him, tilted her head, and sent a curse his way that made his old body fly across the dungeon and out of the way.

Rodolphus grabbed Luna by her hair, yanked her up to a sitting position, and slapped her hard across the face, a cruel smile tugging at his lips.

"No!" Draco, shouted, wide eyed. His hands were clenched so hard that he felt blood trickling from where his fingernails were piercing through his palm. He didn't want to watch this, this was fucking insane - wrong on so many levels. Torturing Muggles was somehow acceptable in his brainwashed mind. Draco didn't enjoy it and often blocked his mind off it with Occlumency, but he'd been forced to do it during some of his missions for the Dark Lord. Knowing by name only what Death Eaters did to prisoners was one thing, but looking in the eyes of a girl he knew from school, and seeing the terror she was feeling made him wish he could move and help her. Who was he kidding? He could have never done anything to ease her pain. If these were the Lord's orders then he could have never...he just couldn't go against him.

"Dear," Bellatrix interrupted her husband before he could do anything else to the girl. "Not this one. The Dark Lord has other plans for her, for now."

Lestrange roared in frustration and let Luna's hair go, not before shoving her towards the dirty floor. She fell backwards and looked between the two Death Eaters, her face terrified, but she kept her head up high.

"Where is Harry Potter, blood traitor scum?" Bellatrix asked her.

"I don't know. Although I wouldn't tell you even if I found him following the Wrackspurts," Luna clipped. Draco didn't know if she was trying to be witty or if she was just barmy. It didn't matter, his aunt would have tortured her anyway and, as if on cue, Bellatrix aimed her wand at Luna's chest and hit her with a powerful Cruciatus Curse.

Draco tried to turn his head away but Diggory was keeping him dead still, eyes fixed to Luna's pained face. "Stop this, take me away!" he begged the spirit but the wicked smile that Cedric gave him told him that he would receive no mercy, much like Lovegood.

The ghost kept him there to witness that horror as the pale light of dawn casted spooky shapes through the small cellar windows. The hours dragged slowly as the shadows moved around while Luna suffered through numberless curses and beatings, being asked the same question over and over like a damn litany. Draco kept his eyes and focus on her until he could bear no more. At some point during the day, he sought refuge in his mind, blocking off all the outside world that somehow became background noise. He concentrated on the image of his mother's kind face, that was gentle and most importantly alive. Draco had to be who he was, do what he did in order to keep her living. That was all that mattered. He hoped Diggory wouldn't detect that he was using Occlumency. Maybe he did notice but decided to pretend he didn't.

When the lights of day, filtering through the little, barred openings of the cellar, faded into the sunset, Bellatrix and Rodolphus left, abandoning Lovegood to her horrific shakes and pains.

The Hufflepuff stared at Draco, unblinking, and the Slytherin forced himself out of his mind and back into the dungeon. Draco glanced at Luna. Ollivander was helping her stand. He promised himself to at least bring them some food and blankets whenever he had the chance. He couldn't have done anything more for them.

Scowling at the spirit, he realized the magical hold on his body had dissipated. Draco started toward the cellar door, he didn't know if he could actually pass through it without the ghost touching him, he wasn't sure whether he was made of thin air or solid matter. He didn't fucking care. Jaw tight and teeth grinding against each other, he marched on, head first. Before he could smash his face, Diggory got ahold of his arm and took him somewhere else.

They were in a small village, hovering over the white roofs and streets; singing and jolly sounds were coming from a nearby building with a cross stuck on top.

Cedric erratically floated downward, much like the snow that was relentlessly falling, and he stopped in front of the upstairs window of an old cottage. He waved his hand and Draco flinched, afraid of being petrified again, but the ghostly magic wasn't meant for him. Every wall of the house became see through like sheer glass, giving them a full view of the interior of the house. The place was filthy as though it hadn't been lived in for a long time. Three old people were standing in the sitting room, and one of them, the only male wizard, looked anxious.

Diggory sighed and snapped his fingers. One of the witches and the old wizard changed shape and, as though they drank a youth elixir, they turned into a petite, curvy brunette and a git with glasses and a familiar unkempt hairstyle.

"Granger and Potter? What are they doing here? What are _we_ doing here, Diggory?" Draco was bewildered. He had a bad feeling deep in his guts that something wasn't right. His heart started beating a little faster as he tried to remember the name of the older of the two witches. She looked familiar.

"Lead the way," Potter told the old hag and he followed her through the house and up a steep staircase.

Draco gasped. The old bat was Bathilda Bagshot, and they were in Godric's Hollow. "Fuck," he hissed. "That's not really Bagshot." He had heard the Dark Lord while he instructed Dolohov and Rabastan Lestrange to set up guard at Granger and Weasley's family houses. He had assured them that he had already left someone to guard Potter's old house in the form of the famous author.

Granger stayed downstairs and began inspecting the dusty spines of the books that were sitting, crooked, on a bookcase. Fucking brilliant - Granger was so predictable. Her imbecile friend was walking right to his death, and she was eye fucking some books.

Draco moved his eyes and found Potter entering the bedroom upstairs, right beyond the window he was floating in front of. The hag was looking at him with blank eyes, the only light came from Potter's wand tip. "Have you got anything for me?" he kept asking her.

Draco started panting, his heart racing in his chest. "Get out of there, you wanker!" he shouted, but couldn't be heard. This was happening at that very moment. Potter's life was at risk right then. It was in that instant that he realized that Harry was the only person that could defeat the Dark Lord and free his family from that fool.

Diggory hadn't moved or said anything. He was just there, arms crossed and a bored plain expression smacked on his face.

"Do something you useless fucking Hufflepuff!" Draco punched him in anger to get a reaction out of him, but his fist went right through Cedric's cheekbone and Draco's whole body made a slow somersault mid air.

Meanwhile, inside the cottage, Bagshot sagged into herself like a deflated quaffle, and Nagini emerged from her decaying body. The snake started attacking Potter, lashing its tail through the air, and thrusting forward with its jaw wide open in an attempt to bite him. Draco extracted his wand and tried to send a Blasting Spell towards the serpent, but he had no magic. Nagini was tightly coiled around Potter, squeezing the air out of him and hissing in his face.

"Shite," Draco yelped as the Dark Mark on his left arm burned. The Dark Lord was summoning the Death Eaters - he was close.

Granger appeared out of nowhere in the bedroom and cursed Nagini off Harry; she was now fighting the evil creature. Potter, Draco was sure, would have died in first year if it hadn't been for Granger's skills and knowledge. Draco flinched at his own thoughts regarding the magical abilities of a Mud- Muggleborn. At the same time, the window exploded, glass shards trickling in front of Malfoy's eyes.

Black smoke appeared at the gate of Bagshot's cottage. Voldemort had arrived.

Draco followed him as he entered the house, his fucked up face contorted in a victorious sneer. He looked back upstairs then, and Granger was nowhere to be seen. Draco groaned, hands tormenting his tousled hair.

With a loud sound and a red flash, Granger came into sight from the darkness. Draco would have sighed in relief if Voldemort wasn't rushing up the stairs in that very moment.

"He's coming! Hermione, he's coming!" Potter cried.

"About fucking time you get it, moron. Get the fuck out! Apparate away!" Draco was observing the scene wide eyed, nails digging into his scalp. Granger shot another Blasting Spell. She missed and the blast started bouncing around the room like a rough Bludger, destroying everything it touched.

Potter grabbed Granger from behind. Amongst that chaos, he managed to jump from the bed to a smashed piece of furniture and then leapt over the window sill into the void. Draco instinctively extended a hand to catch them, but Potter and Granger's shapes twisted and disappeared.

He actually let out a relieved breath then, even as Voldemort's distorted face appeared in the window. Even though the Dark Lord's furious scream echoed through every centimetre of the bones in his skull, Draco couldn't feel terrified - he only felt satisfaction.

His heart was still beating like a crazy fairy's wings when Diggory took him back to his bedroom. Glaring at the twisted spirit and through heavy breaths, he spat out, "I thought Hufflepuffs were caring stoners and animal lovers. You are sick." Draco sagged to the floor, sliding his back against one of the bedposts for balance.

It appeared that ghosts were very fond of shrugging their shoulders because Diggory did just that before he sat on the desk, folding his legs beneath him. "You have an important role in the upcoming war. Grow up, Malfoy."

Draco shook his head in disbelief. "Upcoming? We are at war, you twit!"

Cedric brought a hand to his face and rested his chin on it. When he spoke next, Draco was sure he wasn't addressing him but mumbling to himself. "I could have been successful in life. I was smart, but Voldemort killed my present and my future." Great, Draco had to deal with the barmy prick of Christmas present. The wrath floated over where Draco was sitting on the floor and looked down at him. "You can stop this war."

"How?" Draco asked in a whisper.

"Help Harry."

"How?" This time Draco shouted.

Cedric gave him a lopsided smirk. "Mh. I'm not sure."

Draco groaned, almost whimpered in frustration. "Really?" He let out a long breath. "You just put me through bloody hell! And for nothing?"

"Oh, _you_ went through hell?" Diggory continued yelling, inching closer to Draco's cringing face. "Tell that to the poor first year student. Go tell Luna how awful it was for _you_. Tell Harry how _you_ almost died today!" With a maniacal laugh, he went right past Draco's exhausted frame.

"Must you all pass through my fucking body?" Draco cried as his limbs shook the weird feeling off of him.

With slow movements, he crawled up to his bed and sheltered himself with his comforting blanket. He immediately passed out.


	4. Chapter 4- The Ghost Of Christmas Future

_**The Ghost Of Christmas Future**_

 _ **24th of December 1997, 11:59 PM**_

Draco had been asleep for maybe an hour when he heard the damn clock down the hallway chiming midnight. He counted the tolls in his head. _One, two, three_ , he sat up on his bed, _four, five, six, seven,_ he summoned a bottle of liquor that was resting abandoned on his desk, _eight, nine, ten,_ he took a long swig, _eleven_ , another sip, _twelve_.

The young wizard was somewhere between bored and annoyed as the last and third ghostly mist began to rise from the floorboards. He leapt out of bed and glared at the thickening clump of fog before him.

His heart stopped. Draco's whole body froze as he stared wide eyed.

Dumbledore was the third damned Christmas spirit.

Draco was dumbfounded. He should not have let his guard down. He had thought that Dumbledore would have shown up already by then. All his guilt and all the feeling that he had tried to keep locked in a metal box in his head for half a year hit him at once, eating him up from his guts outward. He fell on his knees and started sobbing at Dumbledore's feet. His ancestors would have probably kicked him in the arse if only they could see him, kneeling in front of a half-blood; begging for forgiveness.

"I'm sorry," he said, keeping his head down, not daring to meet the former Headmaster's eyes.

"I'm the ghost of the Christmas future. Now come along, lad," Albus sounded almost uninterested.

"I'm sorry I tried to kill you," Draco said again. He was fucking pathetic and he knew it, but he felt like he owed Dumbledore, everybody, really, an apology and some sort of explanation. "I'm sorry I ultimately caused your death. I had to or-"

"No need for any of this, everything that happened had to occur exactly the way it did. You played an important part in my death, but it was all for the best." The spirit grabbed his shoulders and pulled him up to standing.

"I don't understand," Draco pursed his lips, he could feel his cheeks wet and flush.

Dumbledore floated to the nightstand next to the bed and took Draco's wand into his fingers. With a knowing smile, he handed it to the young wizard. "Before we go...do you mind sharing some of your candies with me?" he asked.

Draco's eyebrows quirked in confusion as he took his wand but, nevertheless, he approached the candy bowl safely stored in his dresser and offered a handful of Bertie Bott's Every Flavor Beans. Dumbledore popped one in his mouth, humming with pleasure and then, extended Draco his arm as though he was going to side-along apparate with him. Draco took it.

The world shifted, the walls twirled and twisted until the stone wall turned into black shiny tiles. Draco recognized the long tunnel that led to the courtrooms at Level Ten in the Ministry of Magic.

The young wizard went rigid as he remembered waiting for his father's trial at the end of his fifth year at Hogwarts. He recalled the fear of losing him- he had still been stupid enough to believe in his father's teachings. The day Lucius was sentenced to Azkaban was the day Draco Malfoy realised that everything would have fallen onto his shoulders, from the estate to Death Eater's duties. As he let go of the Headmaster's arm, he noticed the prickling sensation on his own left upper limb. The Mark always itched, but he had learnt not to think about it. Dumbledore began strolling towards what Draco knew being the holding cells. He stopped in front of the first one. Within the low ceiling and the oppressing black walls, there were at least twenty people dressed in Muggle clothing.

"Harry's dead," Dumbledore announced with a nonchalance that made all Draco's hair spring up, away from his skin.

"I haven't got much to show you, I'm afraid. But watch you must, nonetheless," Albus said, putting a couple of beans on his tongue and making a face, as though he got two flavours that didn't match with each other.

A clacking sound of expensive dragonhide shoes echoed down the hallway. Two masked Death Eaters approached the holding cell in silence. Everything happened quickly.

One of them raised his wand, and a green light hit the chest of the Muggle man that was closest to the thick metal bars. His body fell and hit the floor with a thud that reverberated in the tunnel. After a second of silence screams of desperation filled Level Ten. The other Death Eater pointed his wand to another prisoner, and she also fell, stiff and dead, to the grimy floor. The masked men killed each and every one of the prisoners inside the cell, without speaking or hesitating until there were no more screams. Only a pile of corpses remained.

Draco had watched the whole scene with shallow breaths, nausea creeping in his guts. He moved out of the way as one of the Death Eaters stepped towards him. He took his mask off and slid his hood back toward his shoulders; Draco's heart felt as though it were being crushed.

Long platinum hair framed a pointy blank face. An older Draco Malfoy stared emotionless into the void before him.

"Hey, mate. Come down here!" the other Death Eater called. He had moved closer to the next cell. Too jarred by the sight of his murderous self, Draco had not noticed his movements. The man had also removed his mask, and Draco's face contorted in a forlorn grimace. Theo.

"Check this one out. She's pretty. I think I'm going to keep her as a Christmas present," Nott said, tilting his head back and laughing hysterically.

"No," the word fell out of Draco's mouth as he felt dizzy. He brought a hand up and leaned on the wall. Theo was a good lad, how did all that happen? How did he- did they- become so heartless?

Dumbledore pat Draco's back. With his eyes shut, the younger wizard didn't feel the shifting of the air and when his lids opened again he was back in his room, his hand now touching a much more familiar wall, his knees falling to the floor. Dumbledore sniffled lightly, and Draco turned his head towards him. He couldn't see well, his sight was fogging up.

"What do I need to do?" he asked, and this time he hoped to receive a straight answer.

"Soon, Harry will need your help."

No luck for Draco.

Pulling at his hair and uncertain on his legs, he rose. With stiff movements and a little embarrassed, he wiped the tears off his eyes. "Could you be a little more specific for Salazar's fucking sake? I've got nothing but half-arsed answers from you ghosts!" His foot was nervously tapping the floor.

Dumbledore's lips curled up behind his thick beard. "Calm down, lad. Breathe."

Draco scoffed, averting his eyes.

"Don't fight him. That's all you have to do," Dumbledore finally instructed.

"What does it mean?" Draco was tired, exhausted, and sick of all he'd gone through in the past couple of days - in the past two years really.

Dumbledore chewed on another candy bean and wrinkled his lips. "Oh, bogey taste. Must be new." Then, he gave Draco another smile and without further explanation, he simply said, "Merry Christmas, Draco." Abruptly, Albus was no more. His ethereal presence just vanished.

Draco's stomach flipped and jolted upward, spraying all its content - bile mostly - all over the carpet. He kept hearing the screams of all the distressed people he had observed thanks to the ghosts. At some point during the day, he realized that the cries were real, and they were coming from the garden - no doubts some sick Death Eater's Christmas fun.

"Merry fucking Christmas indeed!" he yelled sarcastically, sinking onto his bed and trying to disappear from the world. He had a doom filled feeling that his redemption would be impossible.

Draco spent months trying to make sense of the last ghost's words. It was not until the Easter holidays that the answer came to him. As he looked into Potter's green eyes, he saw pride and determination sparkling in his irises. He recognized that moment for what it was, his chance for absolution, his way to rid his family of the Dark Lord.

"I can't - I can't be sure," he told his father, refusing to identify the Chosen One among the prisoners that the Snatchers had brought in. Lucius pushed him aside, still eager to confirm the identity of the man before them. Then his father got into an argument with Greyback. Draco didn't listen, his eyes darting to the other captives; he recognized every single one of them. Potter, Weasley, Granger, and was that fucking Thomas?

His father shook him again and pushed him closer to Potter. "Draco, come here, look properly! What do you think?"

"I don't know," he spat out, and Draco blocked his mind off to the world until screaming and a collusion brought him back into his family's drawing room. Potter and Weasley were fighting his family. Draco instinctively raised his wand to protect his mother, but a voice reverberated in his mind.

 _Don't fight him._

Draco blinked, stopping to consider that memory. With a magical pull, his wand flew out of his hands and floated right into Potter's.

He didn't fight, Potter prevailed over him, and Draco lost his wand. In the past, losing to Potter had stung Draco's pride - like when Harry caught the Snitch in their Quidditch quarrels or when he knocked him down in a duel. But this time, it didn't feel like a defeat. Draco smirked at the contorting shape of Potter as he fled from the Manor.


End file.
